JULY 30, 2006

I've been so busy lately. It's been good for me but at times it's a little overwhelming.

But luckily, the work I'm doing with HaspelCorp is going very smoothly. The people there are smart and efficient. I feel like they are the only people who get what it's all about, especially how quickly we need to work.

Sometimes, I feel a little queasy and light-headed after the sessions -- they said that was to be expected -- but for the most part, the process is painless, really just time-consuming.

It's been somewhat of a trick getting to their facility so often without my father or Shawn noticing, or nosy Devon who seems to be in everyone's business, but I think I've outsmarted them. Again.

I never would've guessed planning a wedding would be so much work, even with Shawn's mother's help. I tried on so many dresses and none of them were right, no matter how much I altered them to fit me like a glove. I know I will find the right one, but it's just so frustrating.

Everyone will be there and there will be a ton of press covering it for the rest of the world to see, so, I really have to look fantastic.

At least figuring out the ring was simple. When my mother gave me her wedding ring before she died, I knew it had to mean something. Maybe she sensed I'd be getting married soon, that it was part of the grand plan and that it was one of the reasons I grew up so quickly.

It now feels like she gave me that ring as a way of giving me her blessing, despite my father's continuing reluctance and disapproval. You would think he'd be pleased that I asked him to give a toast at the wedding, but no, all I got from him was more obstinance. It's getting really tiresome.

Trying to get Shawn to focus on the guest list has been like rolling a boulder uphill. Lately he's been more distracted than usual. I've noticed a grungy, aging rocker-type coming around The Center lately, which might have something to do with Shawn's decided lack of attention.

One night I went to Shawn's suite to talk to him about wedding plans and he was playing some awful music so loudly that he didn't even hear me knocking. A day or two later, when I saw the expensive-looking vintage guitar in his suite, I noted the autograph and looked up the name on the Internet. Nick Crowley, an about-to-be has-been, who hasn't made a new album in 10 years (some of the music blogs said, "Crowley is too drunk to hold his guitar, much less play it, most days.")

I'm not quite sure why Shawn would associate with a low-life like Crowley, but all I can say is, Shawn better not get any crazy ideas. I know how he wishes he could've been a musician. He's played for me once or twice before -- when we were first together and he was more romantic -- and he was good, in a sweet kind of way.

But could he ever be good enough to be the next Nick Crowley? No way. His talents lay elsewhere and if he uses his powers properly, he'll do the world much more good than giving them some new sad songs.

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